Chapter 35: It was Written


Are these the ones your beloved wife deemed fit to carry the Mantle? These insects, oblivious to their sins, oblivious to their destiny? This pathetic remnant you yourself declared guilty for the murder of your children?

Are they the Reclaimers to uphold the Mantle?

You are cruel. You instilled within me a desire to burn, maim and kill this galaxy has not seen since the darkest hours of the war, and you expect me to just let it go? You expect me to let go of everything that defines me, let your wife entomb me for an untold eternity?

It cannot stop. It cannot just be turned off. I am that I am. Where I whet my glittering sword, and my hand take hold on judgement; I will render vengeance to mine enemies, and will reward them that hate me. I will make mine arrows drunk with blood, and my sword shall devour flesh.

Yet I am able to still my bloodlust when I hear his voice. I am left wondering why.

We are not the children of the Precursors
We are not their chosen people now
We have crossed the path they trod
We will feel the pain of the end.

They are coming. I can feel it. Before soon, we will all suffer.


-(++)-

2553 (Military Calendar) \ UNSC High Command (HighCom) Facility Bravo-6, Sydney, Australia, Earth

Admiral Margaret Parangosky poured herself a glass of water from the carafe on the table. She gently placed the glass down on the ebony conference table and cast her gaze around the room. It was contained within the embrace of ablative insulating layers and counterelectronics to provide further security. Once, the UNSC's High Command centrehad been the safest place within UNSC space. Today, that safety was just a memory.

She had to content with ancient Artificial Intelligences, living Forerunners and an armada of sentient organic warships out to wipe out all life in the galaxy. It almost made her long for the days when the Covenant was the most pressing concern that humanity faced.

The days when "humanity" stood equal to the people she needed to protect, unanimously so.

Opposite of her sat Fleet Admiral Joseph Harper, in charge of peaceful cooperation between the UNSC and the Citadel Council. A couple of paces to his left sat the current President of the Unified Earth Government, Doctor Ruth Charet.

The last time Parangosky saw face to face with the President was during the Battle of Earth. The woman hadn't changed her policies one bit since then, except she now directed her diplomatic approaches towards the Citadel Council as well as the Sangheili.

Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, it wasn't going very well.

Another half-dozen officers were also present. Each and every officer had a display tablet set before them. Major General Nicolas Strauss had been the last to enter. Parangosky saw that he had received a replacement for his missing leg. That was good.

They were all intently scanning the reports pertaining the Forerunner AI and the "Master Builder". When the President finished, she sighed and pressed her hand against her forehead. It was as clear a gesture of exhaustion as Parangosky would get from the woman.

"Christ…the timing could not have been worse…" she said. "Just when the Hierarchy's economical investments were going full swing, too.

"Indeed," said the General. "Thus far, the Master Builder has been focusing his attention to the Terminus Systems and the Attican Traverse. Both are outside of Citadel jurisdiction."

"So far as their jurisdiction still carries weight," the President said with a hint of anger. "Fleet Admiral Harper, how goes Lord Hood's diplomatic mission? Is the Citadel Council still willing to negotiate?"

Joseph Harper placed his elbows on the ebony table, putting down his tablet. "I have yet to hear from Lord Hood, madam President. But from what I have been able to gather, the Citadel Council is torn on the subject. Neither the Hierarchy nor the Union blames the UNSC for the tragedies that occurred. The Republics, however, continue to speak out against our actions."

The President frowned. "That is unfortunate. They hold great sway over the races."

That was an understatement if Margaret ever heard one. From what she understood about the Citadel's politics, the word of a single Matriarch could send the System Alliance's stocks plummeting if she were so inclined. Perhaps those reports were overstating the influence held by the Republics, but she wasn't willing to bet on that.

"They won't do much direct damage to our economy," Colonel Melbourn, once of the officers involved with Section Three's forward operations in the Citadel Theatre, proclaimed. "They might have strung the Alliance along in their puppetry, but they have yet to gain any leverage over the UNSC."

"And we should keep it that way," growled the General.

The President nodded. "The Master Builder, then. The reports conclude that he hasn't yet interfered with humanity's business. Where is he now?"

"We're not sure," replied Harper, "But our analysts are convinced that he is taking the Covenant fleets to try and put an end to this feud of his. The AI conclaves in Europe support this."

"Then he will be moving to the Citadel, no?" The President asked. "To reclaim it from the Intelligence that took it?"

"We have nothing to indicate that he bears any form of hostility to the existing nations," Colonel Malbourn said.

"Slavers, pirates, mercenaries," Harper summed up. "He carved a hell of a path through the Terminus Systems, but he has left the more civilized sectors alone, yes."

"Unless his feud with the AI takes precedence over our safety," Parangosky spoke up.

There was a moment of comfortable silence as the gathered brass processed what she insinuated.

"Are you saying that this Forerunner would rather see the Citadel destroyed than return it safely, Admiral?" Harper asked her, his brows furrowing in concern.

"Has any of these decrepit giants shown concern for the safety of the younger races around them?" She brusquely continued. "Their lack of caution gave rise to the formation of the Covenant, the creation of the Halo Array and the unhinged AI now on the loose in the Citadel's territory. Whatever the Forerunners were, they were not concerned with our safety."

"Then the Master Builder concerns you as much as the AI he is fighting, Admiral?" The President asked her.

Parangosky leant back in her chair. Her people had yet to put down Spartan-003. If there was one thing that concerned her more than an unstable Forerunner AI, it was an unstable Forerunner AI with access to humanity's every dirty secret. Every skeleton they ever jammed into their metaphorical closets.

"His desire to overrule every government out there concerns me greatly, yes," she replied after a moment's consideration. She took a swig of water, then added, "A man who does not care for the rules or the will of the people is a very dangerous man, madam President. The Master Builder considers himself a god among men. He cares for nothing except his own opinion. To say it concerns me, is a gross understatement."

Fleet Admiral Harper had a solemn look in his eyes as he said, "The Forerunners held a close interest in humanity. All these artefacts, all these technology caches…"

"And the billions left dead in the Covenant's wake," the General added. "All because they wanted that tech for themselves."

"How many worlds do we have left, madam President?" Parangosky continued. "How many people did we lose in the last decades? We might have weathered the storm, but our position has never been more precarious."

Ruth looked down at her tablet, looking wearier than ever. "It is true. Humanity is but a shadow of its former self. Our economy, our culture, our very existence is hanging on by a thread. Between the Asari Republics and these remnants of the Forerunners, many people are left wondering where we should focus our efforts. Not to mention all this talk about the Reapers…"

The question was left unspoken. Even the President of the UEG did not know what to make of all this.

"The people are looking for stability," Parangosky continued.

Colonel Melbourn poured himself a glass of water as well. "They had stability once," he said, catching up to what Margaret was working towards. "When the Great War was over. When peace talks with the Council species were going our way."

The President sighed. "Everybody is bowing over to please this "Master Builder", while everybody fears the AI. Thanks to this whole Forerunner mess, we'll never have that stability again. At least, I don't think so."

"Then the solution is simple, is it not?" Parangosky said.

Fleet Admiral Harper had not been briefed on ONI's intentions. He didn't understand what she meant. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Margaret."

Parangosky shot him a wry glance. "If the remnant of the Forerunners are a threat to humanity's peace and stability, we only need to remove this remnant from the picture."

"Remove the Forerunners?" The President said, aghast. "Impossible. Even for the Office, that just seems…"

"Impossible?" Colonel Melbourn repeated. "I don't think so, madam President. The galaxy is a lot bigger than it used to be. Everybody has a weakness. Even someone like the Master Builder."

"You want to…eliminate the Master Builder?" The President whispered.

The other officers held their collective breath, speechless.

"The AI first," Parangosky replied. "It has proven to be just as callous as the Master Builder, and a whole lot more insane."

The President shook her head. "I can't…I can't approve…"

"Is there another option?" Melbourn asked. "How many assets remain? What's left of the UNSC's military might?"

"Not enough to ensure our survival," the Major General whispered.

"What do you propose, then, Admiral Parangosky?" The President quietly asked.

Margaret felt the barest flicker of a smile play over her lips. She almost had what she wanted. "What if I told you that the UNSC has in her possession a vessel that can go toe-to-toe with the largest Covenant warship and come out victorious? What if I told you that humanity not only had the means to fight this Forerunner remnant, but also to kill it?"

"You have my full attention, Margaret," the President whispered. "Tell me what you need."


-(++)-

Perseus Veil

Aboard UNSC Sahara

Hundreds of ships moved towards the hijacked geth ship. Dropships, drones, fighters, everything the combined fleets had at their disposal. Shepard felt a mixture of disbelief and wild anger when she saw them fill the space around the frigate.

The video footage of the spy drone filled the screens. More than two-hundred warships formed a loose formation around the Citadel.

Those that didn't, slowly orientated themselves towards the Relay, as if expecting hostile reinforcements.

Come on, John, she thought. Get out of there!

It was no use. Even if he could somehow outmanoeuvre the Citadel fleets, he still had to rendezvous with the Prowler to escape the system.

The Commander looked around the Prowler's bridge. The Spartans stood as silent as ever, like they were chiselled out of stone. Their visors were directed at the screens. They had to be feeling the pressure too, right?

This was a battle of patience, and neither the Forerunner AI nor the Master Builder had much patience left. One of them would snap, and it would undoubtedly result in a bloodbath. A hundred Commanders, Captains and Admirals took part in this assault. If even one of them took a rash action, or even said the wrong thing…

And John was caught in the middle of this mess.

"To hell with it," Shepard growled. She strode to the Captain's chair and tapped him on the shoulder. "Patch me in."

The Captain frowned. "Commander Shepard? What is it?"

"This won't last forever. Some idiot is going to do something drastic, and this whole thing will blow up in our faces. None of us can afford that. So, patch me into the comm. Fleet-wide transmission."

Glancing at one of the Spartans, the Captain replied with a hint of unease. "I don't think that's a good idea, Commander. If they find out we're here…"

The more the man argued, the more Shepard felt like this was the right decision to make. "We'll have to reveal ourselves to pick up the Chief regardless. If we lose the AI, we can kiss our asses behind. If we lose the Master Chief…"

She looked over her shoulder and met the gazes of Blue Team.

"If we lose the Master Chief, everybody and their grandma's going to go ballistic," she continued. "No, I'm going to put an end to this, now."

"…do it," Spartan 104 said.

Shepard nodded at him in thanks, feeling a measure of relief. Wordlessly, the Prowler Captain typed in a series of commands and gestured at her.

Here goes nothing, the Commander grimly thought, before tapping into the broadcast system. She felt acutely aware of the Spartans gazing at her. "Everybody, listen up. This is Commander Shepard. Trying to get this AI through force is going to get us all killed. Stand down!"

A myriad of voices rose up to answer her, each one struggling to make itself audible above the others. One of them eventually did.

It was Admiral Hackett.

"Shepard? How did you – never mind. We have no choice here. We're defenceless against the Reapers without this AI. They're coming for us, Commander. There is no time. We NEED this."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "We can't win this war without that AI. If you try to take her, she won't hesitate to plot your demise. But if you ask for her help, if you just trust that we can make this work, we can turn this around on the Reapers!"

"It's not that simple, Shepard. You're asking us to ignore the one person who knows how to defeat the Reapers!"

"No Admiral. I'm telling you! The only way to fight the Reapers right now is to stand down, and trust us!"

There were a full ten seconds of silence. The officers manning the bridge nervously eyed their instruments and typed away at their consoles, while the Captain whispered orders to them, as if the mere act of speaking out loud would cause an escalation.

"All ships, stand down," Admiral Hackett said with a heavy sigh. "I hope you know what you're doing, Shepard."

Jane cut the connection. "Yeah," she muttered. "So do I."

Spartan 104 wasted no time in taking control. "Set a course for that Frigate," he ordered the Captain. "Prep the launch bay. Get us out of here the moment the Master Chief is aboard."

The Commander had to admit that it felt strange to relegate control to someone else. It made her realize that she had carried this burden for far too long. She had been fighting the Reapers ever since the Prothean Beacon burned that message into her mind on Eden Prime.

Admiral Hackett sounded so desperate when she spoke to him. She could think of only reason why…

Footage from the spy drones verified that the fleet obeyed Hackett's command; the mess of dropships, drones and fighters slowly spiralled away from the geth ship, which began steering towards the Sahara.

Shepard wondered what the two Spartans found on the Citadel. What happened to the people still there when Millennia took it? What was even the point of taking the Citadel?

Most of the Citadel vessels veered out of the way as the damaged geth Frigate veered towards the rendezvous point. The Covenant ships however, didn't. Instead they began leaving the system using those shimmering, blue portals. Slipspace transitions.

That couldn't be part of the plan.

The batarian ships, too, got the hell out of dodge, moving towards the Relay in a loose sphere formation. Only the Citadel ships held their position, as if unsure what to do.

"Offline all external powers upon docking," the Captain ordered. "Lock the ablative baffles and recheck the engine dampers."

The drone footage showed how the two Spartans moved EVA and braced themselves for a jump.

Shepard breathed a sigh of relief. If their suits were still rated for vacuum, they couldn't be too hurt.

Behind her, the Spartans turned to leave for the ship's aft section. Spartan-104 turned to the Commander. "We'll pick up them up in the launch bay."

Eager to have something to do, Shepard walked after the Spartan. They reached the small launch bay after half a minute of navigating the ship's dark and twisting corridors. Knowing that explosive decompression was about the only way to retrieve the two EVA Spartans, she donned her helmet and checked the seals.

She watched the bay doors open to the vast, emptiness of space. She could make out two small dots approaching them as the geth Frigate seemed to drift away in a different direction.

"There we go," she muttered. She wondered what this AI was like; was she just like Cortana had been, emotive and full of life? Or was she more like EDI and Legion, driven by logic instead? Given what 003 had told her, she assumed it would be the former.

But something was wrong. A pinpoint of light appeared aft of the Sahara. Space stretched and distorted, as if pulled taut. The stars disappeared, as if blotted out by a massive shadow.

A Covenant Carrier materialized maybe half a kilometre away from the Sahara's aft. Its massive, bulbous head was aimed squarely at them.

"Fuck me that can't be good!" Shepard hissed, suppressing the desire to reach for her weapon. Like that'd do her any good.

This close, the Covenant ship seemed more threatening than Sovereign ever had. Its massive launch bays and plasma turrets looked close enough to touch. Shepard reminded herself that this five-kilometre monstrosity had enough firepower to demolish an entire turian Fleet. Their one defence against it was stealth, which had probably been flung out of the window at Mach three or something, because the Carrier seemed to be after them specifically.

"They just hailed the Sahara. They want us to stand down and prepare to be boarded. Evasive manoeuvres!" Spartan-104 spoke into the COM with remarking calmness. He and the other Spartans slowly inched away from the opening.

John and Three had nowhere to go, no way of adjusting their course. This close, the alien monstrosity could probably crush them with a pulse of its engines.

Then, in a flash of blue light, something materialized right on top of the Carrier. It looked like an enormous, decrepit dragon, or perhaps an angel with its flesh sloughed off. The construct had enormous, broken wings. Segmented, almost skeletal even. Its main body had been viciously broken in half, with loose cables and floating shards of metal remaining in position with the rest.

Its "head" was roughly elliptical, looking vaguely human. Well…a human skull, distorted and metallic, with an expression frozen in pain.

In fact, the entire abomination reminded Shepard of the Reaper version of an angel. It was massive, large enough to latch onto the Carrier's prow with its metal wings.

Alarms went off inside of the Sahara, lovingly in time. Even as the creature intensified with light, and Shepard shielded her eyes from its bright glare, she felt the floor disappear beneath her feet.

With a cry of surprise, she experienced a fleeting sensation of freefall. Nausea hit her in the gut like a brick. An instant later, she felt her body crash to a rough halt against a metal surface.

A series of rapid thuds behind her indicated that she wasn't alone.

Stifling a groan, Shepard groggily rose to her feet. Getting up proved to be a very bad idea, as she almost felt like retching. She hung her head between her legs, hoping to steady herself.

"Where…the hell…are we?" She asked. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw that the Spartans were getting to their feet as well. She spotted John and 003 a distance away, while the members of Blue Team formed up in a loose semi-circle, weapons ready for any unwelcome guests.

"This would be the Guardian," 003 replied over the COM. He sounded just like 104 did. Just like John did when strange bullshit started happening.

Way too calm for the situation.

"Meaning?" One of the female Spartans retorted.

"Meaning that Millennia looked at that CAS and thought it was pretty," Three replied in a deadpan voice.

"Let's stay focused here. Where are we?" The rough voice of Spartan-104 asked.

"No idea. Inside the Guardian, I think. I'm only along for the ride."

The Commander glanced around. They stood in a bluish-white hallway barely large enough for the Spartans to stand upright. Every couple of seconds a blue pulse would run along the length of the hallway.

Almost like the beat of an enormous heart.

Wherever this was, Shepard was pretty sure that they weren't on the Sahara anymore.

"Is she here now, with us?" 104 continued. "This AI?"

"She is," the Master Chief confirmed. "Blue-Three, take the team and find out what you can about this "Guardian"."

"Copy that," Spartan-104 replied. Together with the two ladies, he turned and walked down the hallway, his weapon at the low ready.

John watched them leave. Shepard felt like there was something he wasn't telling her, but she had no idea what that was. "So what now?"

John took a couple of moments to bring her up to speed. He briefed her about the horrifying state of the Citadel, as well as the apparent overseer of the Reapers residing within.

That deserved some repetition. The overseer of all Reapers, living inside the Citadel.

Shepard was aghast. Every time she walked around the Citadel she had been treading the home of the Reaper's leader? All these centuries that the Citadel functioned as the heart of galactic civilization, and nobody ever found out?

And now the Citadel was some sort of horror attraction. Returning it to the Serpent Nebula just got a lot more complicated.

"You're saying that finding Millennia's mainframe is the only shot we have?" Shepard asked when he was finished.

"You said it yourself. We can't fight the Reapers conventionally."

Shepard crossed her arms. "I know that, it just feels…no offense to the Lady, Three, but what can one AI do?"

The younger Spartan didn't respond. His gaze was directed at the floor, and his stance seemed off. Too hunched over for a Spartan at ease.

"Three? You okay there?"

She reached out to touch the Spartan, and he stirred, as if startled. His hands tightened into fists, before slowly unclenching again. "Apologies. You were saying?"

Jane cocked an eyebrow. What was that about? "We're risking an awful lot by trusting you and Millennia on your word, Three. How are you so sure that this mainframe's going to be of any help?"

"You're lucky she didn't hear that," he replied. "She lost from that Reaper intelligence and she took it very personally."

"She lost? Then how can she possibly - "

"She's not exactly herself right now," the Spartan interrupted her. "From what I understand, the Millennia Never Falling I know is a fragment of a bigger whole. Whatever caused her to fragment like that, really messed her up. Right now, she's saving the strength she has for when we reach our destination."

"And her mainframe is supposed to…what, mend her?" Shepard asked. She wasn't sceptical, she truly wanted to know whether this voyage was worth it. The Reapers were practically on their doorstep right now, and nobody was ready. "That's it?"

"I saw what the Forerunners could do at the height of their power," the Master Chief spoke up. "We should trust Millennia."

Shepard rose her eyebrows in surprise. John had been sceptical about Three since he learned about his existence. The thought of a Forerunner AI only seemed like a threat to him. This change of mind seemed a bit sudden.

A second later, it struck her what he was really after. This was about more than finding a weapon against the Reapers. The Chief was after something else, something he deemed more important than safeguarding the galaxy.

She could think of only one thing.

"She's taking this tub to a Forerunner dig site in UNSC territory. Don't know how she did it, but she discovered where to find the coordinates to her mainframe," Spartan 003 explained. "Shouldn't take more than a few hours."

"Where in UNSC territory?" John asked with a sudden sharpness.

"Nothing ring-shaped," Three merely replied, much to Shepard's confusion.

That was the second time the Chief showed distress at this mysterious "ring". What could be bad enough to keep secret even now?

"A few hours," John repeated. "What about that Carrier?"

Three was silent for a couple of seconds. Likely communicating with his AI overlord. Then… "She's inviting us to the bridge first. We should worry about the Carrier later."

John looked around, as if surprised. "This thing has a bridge?"

"She just made one. Let's go."

The Chief didn't seem convinced. "We should regroup with Blue Team first."

Another moment of silence. "Already at the bridge."

More teleporting hijinks, Shepard presumed. She nodded at John, who just stared at the other Spartan. "Lead the way, then."

The architecture of the Guardian reminded Shepard of her time fighting through Prothean ruins. She was surrounded on all side by pristine white walls. Every now and then, they passed by a node of sorts, with glowing blue orbs that shimmered through narrows gaps. That blue would morph to a pure, golden tint, before changing back to blue again.

Sometimes, the walls would reconfigure themselves; their way would be barred from one side, only for another wall to part or downright disintegrate and allow them passage in another direction.

Mordin would go absolutely crazy here, Jane thought.

Finally, the last wall crumbled away in golden embers, revealing a large, circular room, an observation post of some sorts. It looked like it was made entirely out of glass, allowing them a clear sight of…nothing. No stars, no suns, not the tell-tale glow of FTL.

Commander Shepard was surrounded on all sides by a pitch black nothingness. Standing in the middle of that nothingness were the three Spartans from Blue Team. They turned upon hearing the two Spartans and her enter.

Once again, she was struck by a sense of isolation. She liked to think she was close to the Chief, but the Spartans of Blue Team felt like total strangers to her.

It made her feel oddly unwelcome. That they insisted on communicating with John via their own personal COM channels just made that worse. She understood their reason why, but still.

"We're coming up on our destination soon now," Three told them.

"It has only been seventeen minutes since you said our ETA was an hour," remarked John.

Surprisingly, it was a female voice who answered. The voice sounded like it originated from within Shepard's mind, strangely enough, and it was far from a pleasant experience.

There have been complications. The storm has arrived, and reality is shuddering in its wake. This path was laid before, so tread carefully upon walking it.

The Commander didn't miss how Three and John exchanged a look between each other. To her, the AI sounded surprisingly meek. Not at all what she expected from an ancient entity with a burning hatred for humanity.

Maybe there was more truth to the Spartan's words than she realized.

The younger Spartan cast about the room, as if expecting to see her physical avatar somewhere. "What do you need of us? Of me?"

The primitive who calls itself "Shipmaster". He serves the Master Builder. When we arrive, we will persuade him otherwise.

After that, the AI withdrew from their minds, leaving them alone in the alien bridge.

Having had plenty of long journeys herself, Shepard instantly felt a wave of cushy exhaustion wash over her. As a grunt, the long trip home often went accompanied with plenty of snoring. Neither she nor the Spartans had caught any shut-eye for a while.

While they could still remain on their feet and fight if necessary, it was downright stupid to ignore a chance to catch some sleep when the opportunity presented itself.

And so, the very first humans to ever find themselves aboard a Forerunner Guardian slept their time away. Jane thought it was pretty fitting, considering the sorry state of the galaxy right now…

Sometime later, she felt herself being gently shaken awake. She stirred and opened her eyes, seeing John kneeling down next to her.

He gestured with his head at the windows.

Moments later, those windows around them rippled and changed, revealing themselves to be holographic images instead. The deep blackness of Slipspace vanished. Stars blinked into view, and the warm yellow glow of the system's sun blazed from the left side.

Then, Jane spotted something on the left screen. At first she thought it was a close-up of a gas giant, or the local star, but then she saw it was something different entirely.

A planet had appeared on the screen. A planet smouldering from pole to equator. Great fires raged over its surface, and a black hurricane spiralled through the atmosphere. Floating above the planet was some sort of scrapyard, hundreds of miles across. Debris of both Covenant and UNSC ships.

"Shit," she whispered. She knew this image. It was the same kind of molten world that Cortana once showed them. The endgame of a Covenant strategic victory. The prize the UNSC had to pay for any sort of loss against the genocidal maniacs.

"That's…" Three muttered.

"Reach," John quietly said. "She took us to Reach."

Shepard took a closer look at the screen to the right. Was that an image of the Covenant Carrier from the outside? Weird. She hadn't noticed the glowing red patterns on its exterior before.

When she noticed the other Covenant ships around it, she realized that it was a different Carrier altogether.

Whatever "Reach" was, it already had company.

"Looks like we got trouble," she said.

"One Carrier at a time," Three responded calmly. "Let's try this one first."


-(++)—

Shadow of Intent

Rtas 'Vadum's bridge was in disarray. The emergency lights had been activated, bathing the cavernous room in a dull, purple light. Klaxons blared all around them, never ceasing to warn them of a proximity alert they were all very aware of.

It had been like this for hours, and Rtas was rapidly losing his patience.

"Shipmaster, the ship is still adrift!" Vul 'Soran, his loyal lieutenant, informed him. "Damage reports indicate that all systems have been drained by the Wyrm! Weapons, Slipspace capacitors, everything!"

"What of the Huragok?" Rtas ordered his navigation officer. "I want our sensors operating this instant! Vul, dispatch another patrol at once. The Wyrm has not taken our ship for nothing; search for any breaches or missing personnel this time!"

The bridge lights dimmed, then increased in power. The upgraded backup generators would be supplying the Intent with just enough power for the life support systems.

"The Huragok gave their report," Vul called. "We can now divert power. Sensors are coming online."

"Analysing star patterns," his navigation officer added. "Analysis complete." The Sangheili suddenly perked up, then shot Rtas a concerning look. "Shipmaster! The system matches a human one."

Rtas snorted. "Human? Why would the Wyrm bring us to human territory?"

"It was invaded by the Fleet of Particular Justice. They call it the Epsilon Eridani system…this is where the Arbiter fought his last battle, before he discovered the Sacred Ring."

At that, Rtas felt his blood run cold. He himself served in the Fleet of Particular Justice when it found Halo. The scars he earned that day were not just limited to his severed mandibles.

The Arbiter's last battle before the Prophets attempted to make him their scapegoat…this was the human fortress world. Millions upon millions of humans had died defending it.

All in the name of false Covenant, and blind faith.

Suddenly, the scorn Rtas felt for the human stealth vessel disappeared, and he understood the true intentions of the Wyrm that carried them here in its embrace. The Sangheili had committed terrible crimes against humanity. Yet the Master Builder ignored all the conflicts of the past in his desire to safeguard the galaxy.

Never had Rtas stopped to wonder whether letting go of the past like was wisdom. This machine intelligence, against whom the Forerunner carried such a grudge, had sided with the humans, and only the humans. With her Wyrm, she could have destroyed the Shadow of Intent with contemptuous ease. Yet she chose to take the Assault Carrier with her, instead of obliterating it.

He needed to understand. He needed to know why.

"Shipmaster!" His lieutenant suddenly growled. "Ship signatures orbiting the planet! Another CAS-Class Assault Carrier, as well as multiple CCS-Class Battlecruisers!"

More vessels of war, out here? Who did they serve, and why were they here?

"Send the data to the ship's Oracle," Rtas ordered. "Let it discern its identity."

"Yes sir," his lieutenant replied. He summoned the reference, then sharply inhaled through his nostrils. "It's the Enduring Conviction!" He growled.

Rtas narrowed his eyes at that revelation. "This battlegroup belongs to the Banished!" he roared. "Reroute all power to our shields and weapon systems! We must get the Intention ready for combat!"

No doubt the Banished warships had taken notice of the Intent's sudden arrival. It was a difficult target to miss, especially when coupled with a Forerunner war-dragon attached to its hull.

"Shipmaster!" The young warrior at Navigations then called. "We are detecting Slipspace ruptures!"

"Where?" Demanded Rtas.

"Inside of this vessel! We are being boarded!"

Rtas returned to his command console. No Covenant warship had ever been able to utilize Slipspace to such an accurate degree. Those about to invade his ship would come with the authority of the Ancients.

He had been blinded by lies and promises of the greater good for far too long. It was time to see the truth.

"That must be the humans. All warriors, stand down!" He barked into the shipwide comm. "We have been used to shed innocent blood once before. On our honour, we shall not spill another drop!"

As the warriors standing within his bridge prepared themselves for the sudden arrival of newcomers, a swirling black portal appeared in the middle of his bridge. And from that portal strode forth not one, but five demons, as well as a tall, armour-clad human female.

Murmurs shot up immediately as the Intent's crew watched the demons walk onto their bridge. Rtas 'Vadum heard growls, whispers and promises of violence, but he held up his hand, silently gesturing to them to stay true to their orders.

"Relax," the lead demon spoke, with a voice Rtas recognized, but could not place. "We're not here to fight."

"Demons," Rtas spoke, before correcting himself. "Spartans. I have not seen your kind since the Ark. Your appearance is most troubling. What are you doing on my ship?"

It was not the demons, nor the human female who answered. As the viewscreens of the bridge flared to life, displaying not data but a raging inferno, it was the voice of a completely alien entity that now echoed within Rtas' mind.

This one, he recognized as well.

Ask yourself not what, Sangheili, but why. You revered my Makers as gods, and rightly so. Yet you slaughtered their Reclaimers by the billions. Even now, you follow yet another false king, leading you in pointless circles.

There was a moment of stunned silence amongst the Intent's crew, immediately followed by shuffling noises as the Sangheili present went down on one knee.

Rtas 'Vadum bowed his head low and crossed his right arm over his chest. Though the machine intelligence was the enemy of the last surviving Forerunner, she too had a divine origin. "Forgive us, mighty one. We have sinned against your chosen successors. We- "

I care not for humanity's plight. Heed my words, for we have precious little time. You have chosen to follow the Master Builder, but he will not lead you to salvation. Where he goes, you shall find only ruin.

Rtas blinked with surprise. Thus far, the Master Builder had shown no signs of treachery. "But holy one, certainly his actions have been noble! He prevented the Parasite's outbreak and united the warring species against the Reapers!"

The machine intelligence screamed within his mind, her voice laced with fire and rage, but shaking with an undertone of desperation.

Oh, I have seen his true nature, Rtas Vadumee! He comes striding through the rot and filth, his great fleets dripping with blood, blind to the tentacles that grasp at his wrist and neck! The dead limbs lovingly caressing his mind, turning him towards their design!

Rtas clamped his mandibles together. He felt confusion, disbelief and denial. The Arbiter was with the Master Builder at this very moment! Surely the Arbiter's judgement could not be wrong?

Perhaps sensing his doubt, one of the demons spoke up as well. "She's right. The Master Builder doesn't fight to vanquish her, he wants to control her. With her mainframe, he can rule this galaxy the way he sees fit."

Rtas looked at the demon. He was different from the others, he could tell. "There is no way of knowing the truth. Either the last living Forerunner is a liar, or the most advanced construct in the galaxy is. Tell me Spartan, who should I trust!"

"Me," the lead demon spoke up.

Again, that familiar voice! This demon...this Spartan, with that gash in his suit…

"It cannot be," Rtas growled. "You were lost. The Arbiter mourned you."

"The portal collapsed as he came through," The Master Chief merely said, as if he were discussing his next choice of dinner instead of recounting the legend of his survival. "We…I was left adrift. Commander Shepard and her crew found me."

Rtas settled his gaze on the human female, next. A female warrior who found comfort in the presence of the mightiest Spartan of all? He would have approached her to examine her properly, had he not been uncertain of the AI's true intentions.

"And you unleashed him upon your galaxy next," the Sangheili Shipmaster said. The war, the reconciliation between two distant humanities and the dishevelment of powerful, long established species had all started because of the Spartan.

Yes…somehow, it seemed fitting.

But still… "You call the Forerunner blind, mighty one. You say he is being used. But who? Who could have the power, the strength of will?"

What has been will be again. What has been done will be done again. This galaxy has been built upon a cycle of hatred and insanity. This cycle, too, has already been subsumed. Consumed. You know who has the power. The strength of will.

Rtas 'Vadum felt his mandibles twitch. The missing parts of his jaws suddenly seemed to ache and itch…


-(++)—

Bahak System

5 Hours ago

Your potential is buried deep, inaccessible to a mere Manipular. To bask in my glory and knowledge, you must be able to access the full richness of the Domain. You will need to…expand your capabilities.

"It is called a brevet mutation," the Forerunner whispered. How he wished he could recover the true shape of that young Manipular he had once been. Naïve, but kind. Unburdened by the memories. In the past hundred thousand years, much of that had been washed away.

He regretted it. He regretted ever meeting that individual. But here he was, not merely the last of his Rate, but the last of his very species. Nobody cared whether he called himself the Master Builder or not. Nobody who knew his true name had been left alive by the Array's cleansing winds.

Allegiance to duty was the highest instinct and purpose of the Forerunners. It was what empowered them to defend the Mantle.

Today, the Mantle was his, and his alone, to protect.

Looking at the Alpha Relay brought him scattered impressions of darkness, brilliance, rolling suns and sickness. It was utter chaos.

They swarmed towards the ancient relic, materializing from Dark Space by the hundreds. The abominations were a deep, dark black covered with angry red lines. Their tapered heads were flatter than their main bodies, which ended in five tendril-like appendages. Even their outer shells looked vaguely organic.

"So you reveal your final curse," the Forerunner declared. "Arbiter of the Sangheili. This is your jurisdiction. We must hold the line."

Thel Vadam struck his chest with his armoured forearm. "It shall be done. Hold this position! Give me targeting solutions for the energy projectors and plasma lines! Prepare our Seraph bombers for launch!"

The air with which the Arbiter carried himself was impressive. These species followed him not merely because of his rank, but because he exuded an aura of authority and certainty. A charisma that was not dissimilar to that of the Didact.

His warriors heeded his call and the warship responded to their commands.

More than a hundred mighty Sangheili warships had been lined up to defend the Alpha Relay. A last stand with a calculated outcome. The Reaper Stratagem was nearly flawless, subtle enough to elude almost all of these fletching species while intricate enough to prevent those who did understand from undermining it.

As the Reaper vessels poured into the system, the Sangheili warships opened fire. Great maelstroms of energy burst forth from the formation – a razor thin line of white energy that speared their hapless targets in an instant. The beams completely bypassed their kinetic barriers, boiling through layer upon layer of armour and punching through their drive cores.

The struck Reapers violently exploded, battering the other ships with large pieces of debris and shrapnel.

A second salvo followed before the abominations could react in kind. The Sangheili ships launched a salvo of plasma torpedoes at the Reapers. The sheer power of the plasma made the salvo look more like a solar flare than a conventional weapon.

The flaming vapour did not nearly travel as fast as the energy projectors did, and the mighty armada of the enemy began their advance on the Relay. They did not bother to evade the incoming flames. The plasma struck their frames with immense force, pounding through the kinetic barriers. The Reapers struck by the bolts melted, sagged and boiled as great swaths of armour were eaten away. Like that, more than a hundred Reapers went up in flames, burning and exploding.

It did nothing to stem their numbers. For every abomination they cleansed, another five took its place. Thousands of sleek horrors had arrived within the system, and they retaliated with their own weapon systems.

Dozens of crimson beams crisscrossed through space. The damage of a single impact upon the larger warships was not a great concern, but that meant nothing when the Reapers outnumbered the defenders ten to one. Where one beam of burning metal would not do it, five would. Where five would not do, ten would.

More and more streaked towards the Relay. Thousands of them. The sheer volume of their fire – of their malice – was impossible to overcome.

He didn't understand. This show of force – this display of staggering firepower – it was not his enemy's way. It was plotting its incursion somewhere else, but where? How? It had been stopped on the batarian's homeworld.

He could feel their vast, alien hunger. The unfathomable depths of its malice, its desire to consume. He knew, in that instant, that there could be no victory.

One by one, Sangheili ships were overwhelmed. Frigates and Destroyers detonated under the combined barrage of Reaper fire.

The Forerunner closed his eyes. He was no Warrior-Servant, he was no Didact. Without his ancilla, without the Domain to guide the millennia' worth of experience that toiled around within his mind, he was nothing more than the young Manipular he had once been.

I have failed, he thought with dejection. The last remnants of the Master Builder's arrogance had led him to believe that he could guide the galaxy to salvation. He was wrong.

Everything had spiralled down to this moment. That too was part of its designs, undoubtedly. How it survived the Array, he would never know.

"Arbiter…give your ships the order to retreat."

Thel Vadam whirled on him. "Retreat?" He repeated, shocked. "If we falter here – "

"A sacrifice at the start of a war has no purpose," the Forerunner muttered. "We have spent our lives time and time again…until not a soul remains to be offered for the greater good. We must retreat."

The truth of the matter was simple. The Master Builder had chosen wrong. If there was a way to persevere – to survive the oncoming storm – he did not see it.


-(++)—

Epsilon Eridani System

Present time

Aboard Shadow of Intent

The two of them stood at the very edge of the hangar bay, protected by a thin layer of energy that kept the atmosphere in. The Master Chief and Commander Shepard, staring at the debris field that still clouded Reach's orbit. It was a calm moment in an otherwise damning situation.

Alan-003 quietly watched them, while at the same time keeping a close eye on any Covenant that might interrupt them.

He couldn't help but listen in on them, however. It was his business after all, and an old habit to boot.

"Those are some of the UNSCs finest warships in there," the Chief quietly said. "The Hannibal, a Marathon-Class Cruiser. The Trafalgar, a Supercarrier. Their losses were crippling."

"Your finest warships..." Shepard muttered. "I take it the last stand must have been legendary…"

It really wasn't. Not in the way she thought it was, at least.

"Reach was our last fortress-world," the Chief explained. "Its population was second only to Earth. It was protected by the best. The bravest. We thought even the Covenant couldn't take it. " His voice lowered slightly. "We were wrong."

Alan glanced back to the other section of the hangar bay. There were at least a hundred Elites standing around in the cavernous hangar bay, the sounds of their conversations and work blending together and creating a cacophonous roar. Some were fuelling and loading the dropships. Others distributed arms. Most pretended not to look at the Spartans in their midst.

Blue Team stuck together – as always – and loaded up one of the Phantoms they had been allocated. Rtas' Vadum…now there was an Elite who could honestly expected to honour the truce between humanity and the Sangheili. That so many of them associated with the Master Builder was a problem, certainly, but Vadum was no fool. He could see the difference between arrogance – i.e., Millennia – and sheer blindness.

The thing was, even an honest person could have followers who were rotten on the inside. Any one of these Elites could be a threat. Besides; even if Millennia wanted to help, she was in no condition to do so. Try as she might to keep it a secret, Alan knew. It wasn't just the diminishing returns of her efforts. It was the way she behaved, too. She just sounded so tired.

He knew what it was like. Struggling to accomplish what you once did without effort. Except he didn't grow tired. Eventually, he'd just go crazy.

Not a future he looked forward too.

Semantics. He had something more important to do than reflect on a future where he lived long enough to die of unnatural causes.

"Millennia, are you still with me?" He spoke into a private COM channel.

I am. Speak your mind, but do be swift.

Swift. He could do that. "Are you about what you found? Reach is dead. It's just a planet of ghosts now."

A graveyard seems more accurate. What better location to hide a great secret than a tomb already plundered?

"It just seems unlikely," he replied. "Reach has been inhabited for a long time now. Covenant's been all over it, too. Shouldn't they have found that data too?"

He felt Millennia turn the vast depths of her consciousness to bear on him. It felt a bit like staring into an ocean…or having the ocean stare into him.

You harbour doubts. Why?

Alan hesitated. It wasn't that he feared incurring her wrath – he was quite sure that her threats were more a force of habit than anything else – but because he wasn't quite sure why he doubted this operation.

"It's…"

In fact, he felt a great deal of uncertainty these days. His confidence came from knowledge and the skills to act on said knowledge and that was a fact, a fact and the way his mind worked under optimal circumstances depended on that fact but his mind had deteriorated enough that he knew something was wrong – wrong and tainted, even, but he couldn't be sure if it was his mind, his skills, or even the knowledge operated on –

Stop. Calm down.

It was getting harder to maintain a coherent line of thought. He struggled to collect the pieces.

Let's try that again.

"It's like I'm about to walk onto a battlefield where I know the enemy has set an ambush for me," he tried to explain his jumbled thoughts. "I know that, if I keep going, everything will fall apart. And yet, I have to push onwards."

I believe I can relate to that. You believe we are fated for failure?

"I don't know. I think…I think that, whatever comes next, it won't be victory."

Millennia didn't respond. Maybe that was better, since a white-clad Elite had detached himself from his company and now strode towards the Spartans.

That particular sight was enough for Alan's dulled senses to kick back into action.

Ultra.. Armed with energy sword, rifle and pistol.

He turned towards the Elite, but refrained from drawing his weapon. Fred-104 had spotted the alien as well, and jumped out of the Phantom to confront him.

The Elite stopped at a distance of two, maybe three meters. "Demons. I am Orna Radam. I was tasked to explain about our mutual enemy, before we leap into the fray."

"Alright," Blue Team's second-in-command warily replied.

"The blockade that stands in your way belongs to the Banished. They broke away from the Covenant before the Great Schism tore us asunder," the Ultra explained in an angry, growling voice, as if the very thought of these Banished made him boil with rage. "The Banished are led primarily by the Jiralhanae."

"Brutes," Fred said. "A Bute-led splinter faction? Why are they here?"

"To amass power," Orna Radam replied, making an angry, slashing motion across his chest. "And to salvage. They thrive in chaos, stealing and raiding everywhere they go. "

Alan had heard about the Banished before. The Office of Naval Intelligence thought that their leader, a Brute by the name of Atriox, was to the Brutes what the Arbiter was to the Elites. Charismatic, intelligent and pragmatic. A deadly warrior, brilliant leader. They feared him and his Banished enough that they generally left them alone throughout the entirety of the Human-Covenant war.

That was ONI. Being afraid.

Just my luck.

"Any chance we could reason with them?" Fred then asked.

At that, the Ultra gave a short, barking laugh. "Had the Wyrm not deterred them, they would have attacked us by now. If they learn about the Forerunner machine intelligence, they would stop at nothing to get her." The Elite paused. "That is, you, if you are listening, mighty one."

Millennia was always listening. Knowing her, she was already drawing up plans to destroy these Banished.

And knowing her, said destruction would probably involve her Spartan carrier going up against suicidal odds with minimal support.

Alan didn't look forward to fighting Brutes again. As he was now, he was liable to engage them in close quarters instead of dealing with them the usual way. This situation required wits and quick thinking, neither of which he could trust himself with right now.

The Ultra continued, oblivious to the Spartan's thoughts. "Our shipmaster is willing to negotiate with the Banished, but do not expect much."

With his message delivered, the Ultra Elite returned to his own business. Spartan-104 was quick to share what he had heard among the others, who came to gather in the appointed Phantom.

"Apparently, these guys mean business," the Spartan finished. "Shipmaster Vadum plans on launching an attack to divert these Banished. In the meantime, we secure the Intel and exfiltrate."

All eyes then went to the Master Chief, who leant over a holographic display of Reach as his second-in-command explained. The display showed the Banished battlegroup orbiting the planet, as well as its approximate distance from the Shadow of Intent. It also showed that the Banished forces had arrived en masse at the remains of CASTLE Base, where they had very likely entrenched themselves.

"That's a problem," Alan-003 commented when he realized where the Brutes had established their base. "Millennia says we're looking for a structure beneath the Menachite mountains."

"Their forces are dug in where we need to go," the Chief observed. "A full frontal assault would take too long to break through."

Shepard stared intently at the map as well. "Underneath the mountains? If it's underground, shouldn't there be another way in?"

"The Covenant unearthed almost the entire mountain trying to dig us out," Kelly-087 replied. "What was left of the mountain was destroyed to prevent UNSC secrets from falling into Covenant hands."

"You destroyed an entire mountain?" Shepard asked, incredulous. "You know what, forget I asked. If the mountain's gone, the Banished will have a much easier time searching the ruins. They might have found what we're after already."

"Doubtful," Fred commented. "Underneath those mountains is an entire labyrinth of dangerous titanium mines. The Forerunner complex is below those mines."

CASTLE base had been massive complex. Two thousand meters below the mountains. It was designed to be bombproof, EMP-hardened and generally impenetrable. The Covenant tore it apart like wet tissue paper. All these Brutes had to do was figure out how to gain entrance to the Forerunner vault.

"We don't know how long this will take," Alan said. "Those Banished will outnumber the Shipmaster's forces, anyway."

Shepard crossed her arms. "They already know we're here. We won't be able to gain entrance to this vault without them knowing."

The Master Chief overlaid a topographic display of the AO on the Spartans' helmet displays. "This is what we'll do. Mission goal: insert Millennia into the Forerunner complex and gain access to the Mainframe's location. We will access the AO using two Phantoms. Blue-Four will cover Grey-One as he makes his way towards the complex, avoiding all hostile contact. Shepard and Blue-Three will support the Shipmaster's assault and keep the Banished forces occupied. Blue-Two, you're with me. Providing Grey-One can't get past the Banished forces, we'll insert from the opposite direction and attempt the same."

Shepard and 104 glanced at each other, while the rest of Blue Team presumably verified the Chief's orders.

Alan looked at Linda-058. He couldn't think of a better soldier to cover him. He just felt a bit wary of willingly putting himself in her scope.

"Any questions?" The Chief then asked.

"How are we going to communicate with the Shipmaster's forces during this diversion?" Blue-Four asked.

"We won't. Their rivalry with these Banished is irrelevant. We complete the mission, then pull out immediately."

Alan did have a question himself, but it wasn't directed at the Master Chief. He opened a private communication channel to Millennia. "Just one more thing? When you learned about this data being on Reach, did you learn this from your conflict with the Reaper overseer?"

It was an exhilarating interplay of torture, mutilation and ecstasy. We tore the information we desired from the other's mind…a fate that will soon befall entire civilizations, if we do not hurry.

There it was. The feeling of doubt grew worse still. "This thing was desperate enough to ally with the geth, though Sovereign was ostensibly only using them as a last resort. And now with the Banished standing in our way…on Reach? It feels wrong."

I learned long ago to trust a warrior's instinct. Still, do not bother yourself with concern. After all, these events were set in motion long ago. It was written this way. Keep following the path strewn out before you, and pray it does not lead you to your demise.

It could have been yet another threat, but Alan felt strangely comforted by her words. He still felt like a pawn in a game played by eldritch masters, but at least he was in relatively good hands.


-(++)—

The Jiralhanae warlord stood upon a rock outcropping at the edge of the excavation site. As his forces worked on uncovering the complex underneath, he stared at a monitor connected to his drone network. He saw the Phantom dropships approaching his camp.

He snorted. Rtas Vadum had called for a ceasefire, insisting that a greater conflict demanded their cooperation.

The Sangheili's Assault Carrier had simply appeared in-system, a hundred thousand kilometres away from this molten rock. It had been ferried here by a Forerunner ship, strangely enough. Though he had cast aside his faith in the Forerunners, their technology still transcended the coils of the mortal mind. Its presence alone would have been enough for him to back off, and perhaps even grant the former Special Operations Commander what he wanted.

But no, Rtas Vadum asked for a ceasefire. No demands. No threats. A hint of desperation.

Whatever this Forerunner machine was, it was either not fully operable, or not fully on Vadum's side. Both possibilities warranted investigation.

"Atriox!" The Blisterback Captain called in. "They are almost within range of the outermost defences. What shall we do?"

It was very simple. If Rtas Vadum wanted to negotiate, he would have to do so from a position of weakness.

"Target those dropships and take them out," Atriox growled.


-(++)-

Aboard Sangheili dropship

En route to surface of Reach

The Master Chief stood on the deck of the Phantom, plummeting towards the surface of his old home. Fred-104 stood to his left, together with Jane, while Kelly-087 stood to his right. The holographic screens in the Phantom's interior gave them a good view of the skies, which had grown crowded with shuttles, dropships and fighters.

So far, nobody opened fire on each other. It seemed that Shipmaster Vadum still attempted to talk the Banished into letting them through. Would a Brute-led organization be capable of seeing that the galaxy teetered on the edge of total war? Would they even care?

The Phantom that carried Linda-058 and Grey-One began veering off to the right, steering towards the planet's surface. Reach looked just like it had when he had last seen it. Hundreds of thousands of hectares of blackened char was all that was left of the sprawling forests and fields.

A sprawling hole was all that was left of the Menachites. The once-mighty mountain had been entirely reduced to nothingness. In its wake, the Banished had built up quite an impressive camp. Dozens of vehicles moved around the excavation site. Machines of war with thick, red plates of armour as well as heavy equipment. Laser drills, conveyer belts and giant, insectlike machines that looked large enough for the Normandy to park on.

John did not recognize every vehicle out there. He spotted twin-legged mechs, hexapedal walkers and what looked like Scarabs and Wraiths. All of them had been uparmoured with extra plating. Instead of the usual purple, every vehicle was red and white all over.

The Banished had broken away from the Covenant in every sense of the word.

Suddenly, the shrill whine of an alien alarm sounded from the cockpit.

"Missile lock," Kelly informed him.

"Evasive manoeuvres. Get us groundside."

Plumes of smoke erupted in the distance. A second later, Kelly threw their Phantom in a steep lurch to the side. Her razor-edged reflexes, multiplied by the reactive circuits in the Mark VI, allowed her to narrowly evade the volleys of missiles that streaked towards them. The software loaded into her TACPAD obviously helped with keeping the alien vessel under control.

The closest barrage nearly scraped the paintjob of the Phantom. Whatever these Banished were firing at them was fast and accurate. Explosions buffered the alien dropship. Bits of metal pinged off the hull.

John caught a glimpse of Linda's Phantom. It too had a hell of a time dodging missiles, but either she was a tick too slow, or just unlucky. Her Phantom took a couple of direct hits.

Secondary explosions rippled across its hull, and the ship shuddered.

"We're hit," Linda reported. "Controls are offline."

"Stabilize," the Chief ordered, but he could already see that it wasn't going to work. The impact of the rockets blew half the Phantom's side away. It wasn't going to stay aloft for much longer.

"Negative. This bird's going down. Preparing for a hard landing."

The Master Chief knew that Linda and 003 would survive the landing. The Mark VI's energy shields, hydrostatic gel and reactive circuits alone could absorb almost any impact. But the chances of them escaping the crash site without running into Banished reinforcements was slim.

Losing what little propulsive force it had left, the Phantom nosed towards Reach's craggy surface. It tumbled, sending shards of armour plating glittering, random arcs, before it violently slammed into the ground.

A violent tremor ran through Linda's and 003's biometric readouts.

John clenched his fists. He would put his faith in his team. They would pull through. They had to.


-(++)—

Rouse yourself, warrior! You have a task to fulfil!

Her voices echoed as if coming from underwater. Alan slowly rolled onto his hands and feet, fuelled by an irrational anger. He grabbed onto the nearest metal protrusion to brace himself, nearly growling with exertion. His vision slowly cleared as the alterations in his frontal lobe did their work.

A quick look around the wrecked Phantom's interior verified that it was thoroughly wrecked. The impact had been harder than he anticipated.

Alan slipped past the wrecked metal in his way and found Spartan-058 crumpled in the corner. Her sniper rifle lay a couple of feet away from her, miraculously still intact.

"Come on, Spartan," he muttered as he knelt next to her and opened a private COM channel. "Linda, get up. We need to move."

After a couple of seconds, her fingers twitched. Slowly, she raised her head and scanned her surroundings. Then, she struggled to her feet. It took her some effort.

He moved to assist her, but she placed a hand against his chestplate and gently pushed him back again.

Message received.

"We shouldn't stay here," he told her, stepping towards what had once been the exit hatch and slipping his fingers between the torn edges.

"You know my name," Spartan-058 said. It was a statement, not a question, and Alan couldn't help but detect a hint of irritation in her otherwise-frosty tone. "How?"

003 succeeded in pulling the hatch apart, after which he quickly dropped down from the wreckage and dropped into a low crouch, searching for any sight of Banished forces. "If ONI knows it, I know it. Leverage, for when they come after us."

Without context, that explanation must have sounded like nonsense to her. Still, the II only commented with a quiet, "Don't use it again."

It made no difference to him. As long as she was up and moving, he was content to do whatever she told him.

That seemed to be a bit of a recurring theme, these past months.

Years of training took over; endless hours of stalk, cam and con. A series of quick glances showed him the fastest, most efficient way to camouflage himself and masque his appearance. Since 058 took her own route to the NAV point, he could only assume she did the same.

"Grey-One, a Brute patrol is headed your way," she informed him. "Recommend against engaging."

Alan had just finished applying the last smears of ashes to his faceplate when he heard the familiar sounds of metal ticking against metal, and pebbles crushed underneath heavy footfalls. Before soon, a large group of Brutes appeared from around a large rock formation, but they looked like no Brutes he had ever seen.

They were clad in heavy, red and white armour, bulkier than their Covenant outfits. Half of them wielded Gravity Hammers while the other half was kitted with Brute Shots. They all carried Spikers or Plasma Rifles for backup. They moved carefully, covering each other's sectors and sniffing the air for any foreign scents.

Underneath his blackened helmet, Alan couldn't help but snort. Even if these muppets could smell his MJOLNIR, the myriad of scents that came from Reach's blackened surface would throw them off regardless. Hell, he was pretty sure that the majority of the planet was now completely uninhabitable. When Reach fell, the Covenant had spared only the area around CASTLE Base.

That left the Banished quite literally boxed in.

As the Spartan swiftly melted away in the midst of a carpet of glassed-over rocks, the Brute patrol fanned out in a loose arrow formation, carefully sweeping the area. Well, as careful as Brutes could get, that was. One of them nearly stepped on the Spartan's head as he stomped past his position.

Alan instinctively steadied his breathing, keeping himself as still as possible. When the patrol had passed, he slowly crawled out of his dug-in position and continued across the desolate plains, still prone. Only when his motion sensor showed that the Brutes were now fifty meters away did he rise again.

In the distance, he heard the rapid rattle of gunfire, as well as the dull sounds of plasma discharging. The fire was swiftly followed up by explosions. Lots of explosions.

Alan assumed that negotiations had broken down. He saw the Brute patrol come to a halt, with several of the hulking aliens barking into whatever served as their communication device. After a couple of moments of discussion, the patrol broke their formation and headed towards the west.

For a moment, he wondered if 058 would break her overwatch to reinforce her fellow Spartans. He wouldn't blame her for such a thing. After all, he worked best on his own, whereas she was part of a cohesive unit.

He discarded that thought a moment later. She had her orders. They all had.

"Can't you use the Guardian to wipe these guys out?" He asked after a couple of minutes of skulking through the glasslands, avoiding patrols and sentries.

The Guardian expended much of its energy already. I am preparing for a global pacification, but it is not yet the time.

Alan wondered about that. It was recorded that Rtas 'Vadum absolutely tore through a Brute fleet above the Ark, even though he was outnumbered three to one. How could he not replicate that feat here?

Perhaps these Banished weren't Brute exclusive. That, or the Brute Shipmasters actually had some semblance of tactical thinking. Maybe –

The Spartan froze. He had reached the outskirts of the excavation site, and his motion sensor showed that the coast was clear. But from the corner of his eye, he had spotted something in the desolate plains that didn't belong there.

Alan slowly scanned the terrain in a Z-pattern, recalling his stalk lessons. When searching for concealed hostiles, you had to keep the seven S's in mind. Shape, shine, spacing, shade, silhouette, skylining and signature heat. If you kept those principles in mind, and knew how to apply them in the terrain, anything that didn't belong would leap to the eye…

…there. The briefest hint of blackness. Too sleek to fit into the rough terrain. It was close, too. Maybe half a dozen meters away. Whoever it was had hidden themselves well.

Spartan-003 changed his course towards this new contact. It could a sniper, an ambush or even an IED. It was imperative that he eliminated whatever threat it posed, not just for his own exfiltration.

He rose to a half-crouch to get a better view, slowly bringing his rifle to bear –

The black shape exploded into motion. It was fast, inhumanly fast. A ghostly figure that blurred towards him, crossing the distance in a heartbeat.

003 sidestepped, grabbed the arm that reached for him and twisted.

His opponent reverse-twisted and countered the lock. He lashed out with his leg, but the strike was blocked by an armoured leg.

With strength greater than any human's, the figure twisted from his grip and attempted a lightning-fast one-two combination at Alan's visor. He blocked the first blow, redirected the second and flung the figure over his hips, smashing them into the ground.

Instead of breaking against the blackened rocks, the figure broke their fall and spun free, taking several steps away to reposition.

Spartan-003 drew his combat knife and dropped into a low crouch as well, but then he recognized his opponent. And, judging by their lack of action, they must have recognized him as well.

Covered by dust, soot and what appeared to be a torn poncho was the matte black of MJOLNIR.

"Identify yourself," he ordered the armour-clad figure over the COM.

The Spartan didn't stand down. However, after a couple seconds of silence, a burst of static came over 003's COM.

"Spartan B312," a tired female voice replied.

B312? That suggested a Spartan-III. Another top-secret Beta-5 Division program meant to produce cheap and expandable supsersoldiers against the Covenant. The Spartan Operator Division – Math, Helia, him and the others – was partially based on the Spartan-III program.

But that was the extent of Alan's knowledge. The secrets to the III's were so classified, so jealously guarded, that even he had not been able to learn much about them.

What was she doing on Reach? How had she survived? There was only one group he had definitive knowledge of.

"Were you part of NOBLE Team?" He asked.

She ignored his question. "Who are you?"

One of you, 003 thought. "Spartan Operator 003, Office of Naval Intelligence Section Three. "

His response seemed to satisfy her. B312 slowly crept down again, resuming her previous position.

Her observation post, 003 now realized. The Spartan-III had eyes on the Banished excavation site from her position.

"What's the situation here?" He asked, finding a concealed position beside her.

"That Assault Carrier brought them here," B312 whispered over the private COM. She didn't just sound tired, she sounded borderline exhausted. "Destroyed the bunkers. Began digging. What are you doing here?"

He ignored that question. "How did you survive until now? Reach was glassed."

She ignored his. "You know what the Covenant is searching for, don't you?"

Yeah, this was going to take a while. "A lot happened since Reach fell. Nothing's the same anymore. Classified information…isn't. Not anymore. I'll talk if you talk."

A weary sigh came across the COM, but she didn't respond.

Alan suppressed a sigh of his own. "I know about the Spartan-III Program. I have the security clearance, if that's what you're concerned about."

After a brief pause, B312 said, "That's not it. I…"

How long had B312 been here, all alone? Constantly on the run, constantly fighting just for scraps of food or fresh water? How long had it been since she slept, or even talked?

"Take it easy. I'm going to get you out of here," he told her in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "And I'll answer your questions, if you answer mine."

"…shoot."

First things first. "How did you survive the Fall of Reach?"

"They glassed most of the planet, after everybody died," she whispered. She then handed him the detached scope of a sniper rifle, which he took. "Some parts went slower than others. Some were spare…altogether. What…what are you doing here? There's nobody left."

Alan filled in the blanks himself. Basic survival training combined with untouched swaths of land and plenty of UNSC gear, he supposed. "The Human-Covenant War is over. We…didn't win, but we survived. Covenant splintered. Humanity discovered aliens. Other aliens, who didn't want to wipe us out."

He scoped out the excavation site with the detached Oracle. He didn't like what he saw. An entire invasion force, complete with Wraith tanks, Scarabs and lots of infantry. All with a Brute twist. All vehicles had been given a new paintjob, too. Spikes everywhere.

"Thing is, they had their precursors too," he continued. "Covenant and us had the Forerunners. They have these…things, called Reapers. They're coming to wipe us out. All of us."

"What?"

Alan was certain that he wasn't being as concise as he had hoped. Her weary response all but confirmed that.

He struggled to put his jumbled thoughts into a precise explanation. He was sure that B312 was sleep-deprived and probably dehydrated. A failure to communicate from both sides.

Spartan-003 took a deep breath and tried again. "There's a truce between the UNSC and the Elites. We're here to retrieve Forerunner data vital to the war effort."

"You're trying to get in there," the female Spartan next to him quietly said.

"Yes. Do you know how?"

"There's…they have a blind spot in their patrols, every four hours," she hesitantly said. "Can't use it."

"Why?"

"The quick reaction force," she explained. "Can't get past them. They're in the way."

Ah, that. "We've got people on that."


-(++)-

Shepard wasn't quite sure what sparked it, but one moment the Elites were flying in around the excavation site and everything was chill, and the next moment the sky was filled with AA.

She instinctively braced herself against the solid metal door to her right even before Spartan-104 warned her of incoming fire. The holographic projector in the ship's centre showed the position of the other troop transports. A whole mess of hostile air headed their way, even as the Elites sent their own birds in to counter them.

This whole mess made no damn sense. The only experience she had dealing with these guys was aboard the quarian Flotilla. All of a sudden John knew some of these Elite fuckers and teamed up with them in the past? And these covvies who occupied Reach weren't the same ones who burned it to a cinder?

Not for the first time since she learned of the UNSC's existence, Jane felt like she was in over her head. She had a feeling things would get much more complicated than just acting like a diversion.

"I'm putting this thing down," the Spartan calmly told Shepard even as the ship lurched to a sharp left, nearly sending her tumbling through the ship's empty hold.

A tremor ran through the alien vessel. Projectiles tore through its thick armour plating. Shrapnel bounced through the hold and Shepard felt her shields drain when they protected her against several hits.

A couple of moments later, the ship careened forwards.

"Hang on!"

The bird shuddered. Metal creaked and groaned and Shepard swiftly surrounded herself with a thick Barrier to absorb the impact of the crash.

Seconds later, 104 put the bird nose-first into the shiny crust of the surface, burying it halfway in a pile of rocks and ashes.

"Let's go, move out," he ordered.

"Already on it!"

Shepard Biotically Threw the door open, before swiftly hopping out. It was chaos out there; fighters and dropships sailed through the air, exchanging fire, dodging and weaving.

It wasn't much better on the ground. A storm of dust had been kicked up by all the ship movement. Shepard couldn't see much more than fifty meters. Blurry shapes charged at each other. Whirling motions and flickering gestures as swords and hammers clashed. Plasma discharged all around them. Screams, roars. Explosions.

She felt like she was back on Mindoir again.

Spartan-104 was already moving. Shouldering his rifle, he leapt from the dropship and put a couple of short, controlled bursts into targets Shepard couldn't see. He then turned to her and gestured towards the right flank, where they'd have a better angle on the Banished forces.

The

he Spartan ducked into cover as the group of Brutes opened fire on their position. Dozens of bolts of white-hot plasma and razor-sharp spikes pelted the rocks they took cover behind, blasting away chunk after chunk with every impact.

They howled and screamed, overcome with bloodlust. Shepard glanced at the Spartan, who swiftly reloaded his assault rifle. "Popular guy, ain't ya?"

"We'll call for air support, then link up with the Elites," Spartan-104 simply replied.

Jane had something else in mind. She levelled a smirk at the super-soldier. "Don't worry. I got this."

She rolled away from her cover and rose into a half-crouch. As soon as she was up, she engaged her Biotics. When she rematerialized, she was turning through the air right on top of the formation of Brutes. There were about twenty of the ugly bastards. She guessed she'd do the entire galaxy a favour if she reduced that number by…oh what, a hundred percent?

There was a blast of energy and several loud booms as she impacted on a hammer-wielding alien, shedding dark energy in shockwaves that sent the aliens staggering and stumbling.

Bad day to pick armour over shields, Jane thought with grim satisfaction. She landed on her toes in the midst of the Brute formation and drove her boot down. She sent a Biotic wave along her leg and into the ground. Legs snapped or bent backwards, pieces of armour had warped or downright crumbled off their owners and several unfortunate furballs had been sent flying by the initial impact, their bodies breaking against the rocks as they landed like ragdolls.

A truly huge Brute recovered faster than the others – was his armour just fancier than the others'? – and took a horizontal swing at her.

Lightning quick, Shepard ducked underneath the swing and retaliated. She'd heard the tales about the Brutes and their annoying stubbornness when faced with bullets, so she didn't even bother. Instead, she blasted him in the face with a bolt of dark energy, tearing through his helmet and eating into his skull. The beast went absolutely mad, dropping his hammer and howling in fury.

The other Brutes began getting up, so she disappeared in a wash of Biotics and reappeared a couple of meters to the right. There, she lobbed a Singularity field at the howling aliens and watched as it began sucking them in, the gravitational forces crushing them against each other.

Jane then tossed a Warp bolt at the tangled mess of Brutes and watched them prettily explode in a giant detonation of bluish-red light, purple blood and furred bodies.

These things were surprisingly hardy.

She felt her amp hum in the back of her head as she prepared to finish off the aliens that survived, but then Spartan-104 took care of that. A steady stream of fire erupted from the left. Accurate and powerful, the gunman took down all the surviving Brutes with well-placed headshots.

"Nice work," he told her. "I get why the Chief keeps you around."

"Thanks…?"

No time to enjoy the compliment though. The Biotic detonations blew the dust away, revealing even more Banished. Grunts, Jackals, the entire Covenant spectrum.

The COM crackled with static. This time, it was the Elite Shipmaster who came through.

"All forces, take heed! The Ancients shall provide for us! Prepare for immediate equipment failure!"

Immediate equipment failure? That could mean only one thing.

Shepard looked at Spartan-104, who met her gaze.

"EMP," she said. "Can the Covenant do that?"

He shook his head. "Not the Covenant."

The Commander looked up at the sky, searching for the decrepit angel that was their Forerunner support. She saw that some of the fighters and gunships began peeling away from the battle, heading back towards orbit where the "total equipment failure" wouldn't cause the pilots to plummet to their deaths.

She wasn't sure what to expect. A targeted EMP? But why hit the allied forces as well? And why was the Shipmaster okay with this?

Well, the Covenant used to worship the Forerunners like the hanar revered the Protheans. Shepard could only guess she was about to find out if that was justified or not.

And besides; an EMP couldn't disable her Biotics.


-(++)-

Spartans B312 and 003 barely had the time to get to cover before the pulse struck the excavation site. A great wave of bluish energy cascaded across Reach's surface in a split-second. Like a tsunami it consumed every electronic in its wake, even sending the EMP-hardened MJOLNIR battlesuits into an emergency mode. Great swaths of dust followed in its wake, blanketing the acres of ruined land in dirt and sand.

As Alan began resetting his MJOLNIR's systems and rebooting its software, he watched the carnage that Millennia had wrought.

Banshees fell out of the sky like bricks, their propulsion systems having been completely disabled. Phantoms spun in lazy circles before plowing into the ground. Explosions rippled through the excavation site as aircraft slammed into sensitive equipment, digging machines and vehicles. An enormous Scarab sank through its legs and collapsed under its own weight.

Sniper towers had collapsed, sending the troops manning them plummeting to their deaths. Small arms weapons appeared to be useless as well, as many of the Banished forces began furiously messing with their equipment.

Dozens of Brutes had lost their power armour when the EMP hit. Others wearing large, bulky exo-sutis were now stuck, their packmates desperately trying to free them. Tanks and bipedal walkers had been turned into armoured coffins, the crew sealed inside without a means of escape.

Alan smiled. Millennia seemed incapable of thinking small, and her work was a sight to behold. "Beautiful. Nice work," he spoke into the COM. A second later he realized that the COM wasn't even working properly; resetting the suit's communication systems put them into default mode.

He'd have to do this the old-fashioned way. Trusting that B312 had been taught how to communicate like a Spartan, he signalled for her to follow him.

She flashed him a green status light. Good to go.

B312 and 003 ran in opposite directions along the edge of the excavation site. Number Three stopped when he was about four-hundred meters away from her position, then sent her a green status signal.

A moment later, her light flashed green as well.

Alan checked his assault rifle. Current EMP weapons were limited in employment because of cost inefficiency and unpredictability. Most critical equipment, including weapons, were hardened against EMP's anyway.

Then again, this was Forerunner tech. He should be glad that his weapon still had its general shape. Testing whether it still worked wasn't an option.

Alan began pushing deeper into the excavation site. Without air support and sniper towers, the sentries were easy to bypass.

One particular patrol of Brutes moved along the edge of the excavation site. Just as the three of them passed by the Spartan's six, another patrol began heading his way from his nine.

B312 would know how to bypass these things, but he was caught dead to rights. If he stayed put, they'd converge right on top of him. His camo wouldn't hold up in the current environment.

That was the problem. Now the solution.

He flashed a yellow status light to Six, then began repositioning himself towards the east, where she would be coming from.

His MJOLNIR's powerful audio sensors picked up the sound of rocks clattering against each other. Almost immediately it was followed by a Brute barking orders, followed by the heavy footfalls as the armoured beasts lumbered in her direction.

Alan silently thanked the Spartan-III and continued on his way. He sprinted across a wide open area like a dark blur, crossing the hundred or so meter in seconds. He was getting close now; the concentration of guards was increasing.

So did the chaos; Brute Chieftains screamed orders at scrambling underlings, burning wreckages littered the AO and a large group of the dumb apes worked frantically to put out all the fires. The rest mobilized to reinforce the borders, as if they expected a second attack.

A series of enormous holes had been drilled through the ground under a slight angle, boring straight into the tunnel complex below. The hole was easily thirty feet wide, and its surface was so smooth that it should have hindered any attempt to climb it. However, the Banished had worked around this hindrance by carving a series of crude steps down the tunnel. A series of metal bars were welded into place, allowing those attempting to descend a solid handhold.

Shimmering blue ropes had been attached to those handholds, as if a team of Brutes had fast-roped down the tunnel already.

Alan crouched down in front of the cavernous opening. No guards in sight. No sight of this mysterious Atriox, either. With some luck, he died in the "pacification".

Communication was still out. Though Spartan B312 sent him a signal that she was moving towards his location, the Master Chief had yet to take a stab at sharing his status. Either he had gone fully dark, or he was WIA.

That last option was so unlikely that Alan dismissed it out of hand.

So again, where was everybody?

Alan felt a sense of unease and again, a little sensation in the back of his mind warning him that something was off.

But that sensation was soon matched – then exceeded - by his desire to impress. With Blue Team and especially Millennia Never Falling now depending on his performance, he couldn't afford to delay. With that driving him on, he took a hold of the shimmering rope and rappelled down.

The inside of the complex resembled granite rock, with glyph-covered passages trailing along the lower and upper edges of the tunnels. Long series of squares, triangles, bars and dots. There was something off-putting about them. They blurred out whenever looked at directly, but shimmered with a vague blue light when observed from the corner of the eye.

"What am I looking at?" He asked.

As always, his minder's response came within seconds.

They tell a story.

As she said that, the images grew blurrier. Alan could hear whispers in the back of his mind. The words "Promethean" and "Librarian" were repeated multiple times.

He tore his gaze away from the images. "About what?"

It…is not my place to tell it anymore.

Alan didn't bother telling her that he knew that feeling. "It may take a while to find what we're looking for. Could you try?"

Scattered across your worlds are the chronicles of those who left their mark on our long history. These symbols tell the story of a warrior, and that which he held dear.

"What kind of warrior?"

He was the Protector of the Ecumene, the Lighter of the Halo Array and the greatest soldier our people ever knew.

Alan came across a T-intersection. "So…a good warrior then?"

Your capacity of stating the obvious continues to baffle me. Proceed along the left hallway.

The cavern system was extensive. Without Millennia to guide him, he would have undoubtedly gotten lost, several times over. His shields had yet to come back online, but at least his guns were still working. Whatever that Guardian did, failed to disrupt the moving parts of his rifle. The optics and electronic components had failed, but the weapon still operated.

Alan discovered this the first time he ran into a Brute scout. The good news was that 7,62mm applied directly to the face was still enough to kill the damn things. Hell, they didn't even fight back. They were all mesmerized by the glyphs on the walls. Too easy.

But the bad news was that the Brutes were very likely to get in-between him and his exit route. Now that Millennia had reduced the armed forces on Reach back to the bronze age, it was just a matter of time before things got worse.

Alan wouldn't question that. Just like he didn't question the warm, white light that traced a line across the wall and into the distance.

This galaxy is wounded on a level organic beings cannot perceive. Chronological and causal paradoxes required the healing touch of causal reconciliation. My creators used quantum engineered crystalline devices to stabilize the many dimensions of Slipstream space. One particular crystal used to be housed in this facility.

"I'm guessing it's not here anymore," the Spartan mused.

In good fortune. Reality still bears the scars of the great wars that decimated my people, a lifetime ago. But that is not the issue today.

"That's a relief?"

She ignored him. More likely, she didn't even hear his response.

Once more, I find myself cursing your limited functionality. There is much to talk, but precious little time. Although I wonder if she foresaw even this…

"Millennia? Let's focus. Your mainframe. Where can we find its location?"

Again, she didn't acknowledge his comment. It was almost like she was…lost in her thoughts.

How deep your people walk in parallels to mine…the fortress world and the warrior, the home and the custodian…it is fitting. One leads to salvation, and one leads to damnation.

"Come now, Millennia," the Spartan repeated, louder this time. "The Heart. How do we find it?"

Her response was strangely subdued.

Heed the story.

So he did. He looked at the glyphs on the wall, concentrating on their shapes and the intensity of their light. He felt a strange, Slipspace-like feeling. Images flashed in front of his eyes, too many to count. Weapons, ships, individuals, planets, stars – so much, so fast. It was nauseating.

Steel. Warrior. Fire. Composed. Promethean.

Light. Warmth. Love. Librarian.

More memories that didn't belong to him. More images that didn't make sense. Slowly, Alan began to understand that this place was like a shrine. A structure built to honour the life of one particular man.

The Didact.

The Heart…

In that moment, Alan began to understand what motivated Millennia's seemingly irrational behaviour.

You travel within the glory of Forerunner memories. I can feel your confusion, your fear, as you begin to comprehend just how insignificant everything seems when compared to the glory of the past. But you are close now. Push onwards, and I shall shepherd you from the darkness.

Maybe she was right. This all felt like a bit much. Up to now, the mystery of the Forerunners had been just that. A mystery. A tale about a race of gods that suddenly disappeared. But now…

Alan pushed that thought out of his mind. He had a mission to complete.

He proceeded along the wall of memories, occasionally getting a glimpse into events that took place more than a hundred thousand years ago.

"How come the Covenant never learned about this?" He eventually asked when he received the faint image of a human, wearing armour more advanced than anything he had ever seen before. "Wouldn't this have challenged their entire belief system?"

These records can only be accessed by the chosen inheritors of the Mantle. A Reclaimer. Even then, these memories would be beyond their comprehension.

The Mantle…it sounded familiar. Like a dream once forgotten. "Humanity?"

Some. A part. Continue along the left hallway. We are close.

Her voice grew distant and cold. The Spartan wondered if it had something to do with these particular memories. Every time he thought he began understanding the AI, she threw him another curveball.

No matter. He'd find what she was looking for.

Spartan-003 continued to wander through the memorial hall of the Didact. Sometimes, his mind was able to understand what the memory glyphs told him. Sometimes, they were beyond his comprehension. It didn't take long for him to understand that the Didact wasn't particularly fond of humanity.

He also found out why.

Humanity had risen to the stars before. Millennia had all but stated that in the past. They had been a technologically advanced civilization, a major political and military power to rival the Forerunners. They went to war with the Forerunners, for reasons unclear.

The conflict lasted a thousand years. It obviously resulted in humanity's downfall. They were nearly wiped out, stripped of their culture, their technology, their very intelligence. Evolutionary regression.

The conflict also resulted in the deaths of all of the Didact's children. Murdered by humans.

The sins of our fathers, Alan wearily thought.

It was the last segment of the memorial hall that truly went into detail about the Didact's involvement during this Human-Forerunner war. Specifically, his greatest weapon, and most trusted ally.

"Millennia Never Falling," the Spartan whispered.

He caught the glimpse of a star, encased in metal and crystal.

The warrior and the AI. It was disturbing how closely history repeated itself. Maybe that was the point.

Cycles within cycles. Repeated insanity.

Alan didn't know anymore.

Come now, Bastard Warrior. We have learned all we can. It is time we leave this place. There may yet be a chance. Hurry!

The Spartan turned and ran, heading back the way he came. He didn't encounter any Brutes along the way. This bothered him, but he didn't know why.

A burst of static came over the COM. That was one mess fixed.

"Blue-Four to Grey-One. Are you there?"

"Grey-One to Blue-Four. Mission objective achieved. Moving to exfiltrate."

"Grey-One, Brute reinforcements entered the tunnel about ten minutes ago. Friendly air support is on its way."

"Solid copy. On my way."

Those Brute reinforcements could be lost in the tunnels, or right around the corner. He had to hurry.

Spartan-003 picked up the pace, running underneath solid archways and through bending corridors until he finally reached the granite hallways around the opening.

He rounded the corner and ended up on the dark intersection. From there, it was a straight shot to the tunnel -

Something burst into movement, virtually on top of him. Alan was barely able to bring up his arms to defend himself when a large, unyielding gauntlet clasped around his neck. He felt the seals around his neck tighten against his windpipe as he was pulled into the air.

A truly massive Brute stepped out of the shadows, leering at him. He was clad in black and white combat armour, cobbled together from what looked like ODST plating.

Growling, the Spartan clawed at the armoured fingers digging into his neck, instinctively trying to pry them away. When that didn't work, he placed both hands on top of the gauntlet and jerked backwards, while at the same time kicking at his opponent's groin.

The Brute snarled. More provoked than hurt, he choke-slammed Alan against the ground. He then grabbed a hold of some sort of hammer and brought it down hard, but the Spartan was able to roll out of the way just in time to dodge the blow.

It wasn't a hammer, but a mace. Bereft of whatever energy once powered it, the weapon still left a sizeable crack in the granite floor.

Alan presumed this was Atriox. It had to be.

He glanced around briefly to spot any potential packmates, but the Brute was strangely alone.

Alan took a calming breath and unsheathed his combat knife. He was confident he could take one Brute in single combat.

The Brute charged at him, bringing an armoured arm to bear in an attempt to backhand him, before immediately following up with a blow form the mace. Alan dodged low and slashed the Brute across his stomach. The sharpened edge of his knife should have cut clean through the Brute's armour, but his guts remained unspilled.

Faster than Three thought possible for a Brute, Atriox slammed his knee against his head, knocking the Spartan to the ground.

Sprawling on the floor, Alan winced. He rose and began an aggressive combination of punches, kicks and stabs, but he was unable to get through the Brute's armour.

Atriox wasn't the lumbering mountain of an alien that he appeared to be. He was calm and collected. No superfluous movements, just calculated strikes and immense strength.

At first, the Spartan had the advantage of speed and agility. When the Brute swung for him again, Alan stepped in close and struck the Brute's face with a lightning-fast jab. Immediately afterwards he leapt atop his torso, struck a distracting atemi with his elbow and immediately whirled upon the Brute's back when he brought his massive arm to reach for his face.

Now standing behind Atriox, Alan was about to stab him in the back when Atriox back kicked him against his stomach.

The Spartan felt the back of his head slam against the granite wall. Stars exploded in his vision. He shook his head and struggled to get up, but he was unable to regain his senses fast enough.

A deep, raspy chuckled escaped from the Brute's throat as he grabbed Alan by his head and slammed it against the wall again.

The Spartan bared his teeth, feeling an incredible anger begin to course through his veins. Cold fury overcame him, and with a snarl, he kicked at the Brute's leg. The alien released him, only to strike at him with his other first.

Alan was faster, performing a spinning and slamming his armoured boot against the alien's chin.

Atriox staggered backwards and clutched his chin. Then, he bared his teeth, and charged the Spartan with his mace. He swung with a savage ferocity, as fast as an Elite with a sword, and Alan managed to dodge four times before he hit the wall with his back.

Realizing that he was out of manoeuvring space, he tried to sidestep, but he was a split-second too late. The flanged head of the mace struck him against his side.

Pain ripped through his torso, and he felt his near-unbreakable ribs crack. He coughed and wheezed, dropping to the floor.

Atriox huffed and rubbed the head of his mace with his oversized gauntlet. He almost seemed disappointed.

Alan smirked, and made his move. He took advantage of the Brute's gloating and grabbed one of his own serrated combat knives, then promptly stabbed Atriox through his foot, pinning him to the rocks.

He didn't waste any time in leaping back to his feet and pulling a second knife from its strap, intent on driving it through Atriox' eye.

The Brute snarled, then ripped his foot free. Before Alan could react, the Brute stop-kicked him in the stomach. Alan slammed against the wall, hard, then slumped to the ground. He rolled onto his back when the Brute approached him, but Atriox was on him in a flash.

Uttering a loud roar, the Brute stomped on Alan's chest. Once, twice, three times, before lifting his massive boot above the Spartan's head to crush it under his heel.

With a roar, the Spartan rammed Atriox' foot away and pushed off the ground, before attempting to swipe Atriox' legs from underneath his body.

The Brute stumbled sideways, but instead of trying to right himself, he merely smashed his mace against Alan's flank.

The Spartan landed in a heap on the ground, dazed and exhausted. He coughed again, more violently this time. Blood splattered the inside of his faceplate.

A voice screamed at him from the back of his mind. He couldn't understand it. Couldn't make out the words.

Expecting the Brute to try and finish him off then and there, Alan glanced up, only to see Atriox exchanging blows with a small, dark figure. She darted back and forth with a kukri in her hand, keeping the Brute distracted.

312?

She was faster than he was. Atriox couldn't get a single hit in. She slashed, stabbed and hacked away at his chest and limbs, but she couldn't get through the armour either. It was a stalemate, and both combatants had to know it.

B312, exhausted and weakened as she was, had no way of breaking the stalemate. Atriox did. The Brute transferred his mace to his other hand, leaving that power-fist of his free.

In a flash, Alan realized what he meant to do. He rose, ignoring the pain that stabbed through his body. He felt the sweet rush of adrenaline and other chemicals flooding his system, allowing to him to act with clarity and purpose.

B312 got a good hit on the Brute's chest, burying the kukri up to its hilt. Then, Atriox' gauntlet snatched the female Spartan's wrist. Even as she pulled out a smaller knife with her left hand and began stabbing the brute in the stomach, he began squeezing her wrist. She groaned in pain as the metal around her wrist warped.

Then, with a bone-breaking crunch, Atriox put enough force on the Spartan's wrist. Her armour shattered, as did the bone underneath, despite her augmentations.

B312 screamed in pain and began punching the Brute in a desperate attempt to free herself. Unfazed, the Brute threw her against the wall.

She slowly rose to her feet again, but Atriox brutally swung his mace towards her, hitting her in the head. Her already-damaged helmet broke. She didn't get up again.

Atriox exhaled slowly, before pulling the kukri from his abdomen and dropping it to the ground. Then, he raised his mace for the killing blow.

"No!"

Alan hurled himself at the Brute, and knocked the alien off his feet and away from the fallen Spartan. He ignored the near-blinding pain that coursed through his body. With rage fuelling his body in lieu of the blood he had lost, he stepped inside of Atriox' reach and began pummelling him with hooks and stabs. He furiously wailed on the Brute's face with his elbow, trying to beat his skull in. But try as the Spartan might, he was unable to get more than a few hits in before the Brute shoved him off.

Atriox then attempted to break Alan's onslaught with a right hook of his own, but Alan deflected it and locked the limb underneath his armpit, making sure to keep that power-fist out of reach. The Brute countered with a knee strike to his already-torn abdomen.

Getting riled up now, the Spartan slammed his head against Atriox' face, again and again. The two of them went on like that for a while, inflecting incredible pain on each, but neither willing to back down.

But it couldn't last long. A black fog covered Alan's senses, pain dulled his mind. He didn't notice it when Atriox shifted his weight, turning towards the side. All he saw was an opening, one which he could take advantage of –

The Brute caught his fist mid-swing. An unyielding gauntlet slowly wrestled Alan's arm away.

"Not a demon," Atriox rumbled. His face was bruised. Blood trickled form his nose and his mouth. "A wild animal."

Alan-003 continued to struggle. A dam within had burst. A frenzied fury, akin to madness. His insides screamed in raw, red rage. No way to focus it. No way to control it.

Atriox shook his head, seemingly at a loss for words. He clenched his mechanical fist, before brutally slamming it against the Spartan's solar plexus.

The inner layer of Alan's failed. He felt the gel layer burst, an incredible pain spreading through his torso abdomen. He felt things tear and break.

Blackness clouded his vision. Exhaustion washed over him. His limbs felt impossibly heavy. Atriox released him, and his body slumped to the floor, limp.

Millennia…Alan thought. I…

The Brute towering over him suddenly stopped. He sniffed the air, then turned around.

Thundering footsteps echoed through the hallway. They barely got through to fallen Spartan, whose waning thoughts were almost too hazed to recognize them. Someone slammed into the Brute with enough force to send him crashing to the ground.

Alan saw the man roll to his feet, dropping into a familiar martial arts stance. He knew who it was, and he smiled, taking comfort in his presence.

It was the Master Chief.


-(++)-

John eyed the Brute standing in front of him. It was large, larger than the other Brutes that now emerged from the dark tunnels behind. White war paint, black armour that resembled an ODST more than Brute Power Armour…there was no doubt in his mind that this was the legendary Atriox.

The Chief shifted his gaze for a fraction of a second, taking note of the two fallen Spartans lying in-between him and the Brute. One of them was 003, the other an unknown.

Atriox readied his mace.

Wordlessly, John pulled a string of grenades out of his duffel bag, then wound the prepared string around his thumb, making a show of it so that all the aliens could see it.

Even a Brute skilled enough to handle two Spartans in close quarters combat had to be apprehensive at the destructive power of eight fragmentation grenades with modified pins, all of which were attached to the string currently wound around his hand.

The Chieftain held out his fist to the other Brutes, who skulked backwards without question.

"Can you stand?" The Chief asked, hoping that at least one of the Spartans could move. If not, this could get complicated.

It was 003 who groggily rose to his feet, clutching his chest with trembling hands. He met John's gaze, then wordlessly stepped towards the other fallen Spartan.

Linda's status light flashed red. It was time to get out.

The Chief watched carefully as 003 pulled the unknown Spartan from the ground and heaved her onto his shoulders.

Brutes were getting antsy. Growling, snarling, clutching their hammers tightly. Their leader just stood there, glaring daggers at the Master Chief.

John glared right back. There were enough dead Spartans. "Did you get it?" He asked.

Number Three flashed him the green acknowledgement light. His bio signs were anything but green, however. He began limping towards the exit, slower than the Chief would have liked.

When the younger Spartan had enough distance, the Chief pulled the cord. The thick wire pulled the pins from the grenades, priming them.

The Chief chucked them at the Brute Chieftain, then booked it. The last thing he saw before the thunderous detonations consumed the passage, were two heavily armoured Brutes throwing themselves atop the bandolier of grenades.

Atriox just stood there, glaring.

"Go, go!" John barked, covering their escape with controlled bursts of 7,62mm fire. Those Brutes were too well-protected for that detonation to take them all out. Sooner or later they'd come sprinting up then tunnel, ready to tear them to pieces. Hopefully the gunfire would put prolong that time.

Their escape was short, but frantic. Together, the Spartans fell back to the opening of the tunnel, where the rest of the Banished forces were converging on their location. Hundreds of Banished forces converged on their location, screaming for blood.

It was a good thing that Linda, Fred, Kelly and Jane had their exit covered. The four of them had formed a defensive formation around the tunnel's opening. The sound of staccato gunfire, explosions and Biotic detonations were like music to his ears.

Number Three brought up the rear. He gently placed the unknown Spartan down on the floor, then tore his own helmet off. He fell to his knees, and retched.

Dark, slimy blood splattered across the ground. The Spartan reached out to someone the Chief couldn't see, then collapsed.

His bio signs flatlined.

John dropped to his side and rolled him into the recovery position. "Three? Spartan?"

No response. He was limp.

The Master Chief's thoughts raced as he considered the ramifications. A strange blackness rose within him. After losing Kurt, and Will, and Cortana…even an unknown like Three was too much to lose.

Besides; you didn't leave Spartans behind.

"Kelly, grab him," he ordered. "We're not leaving him."

"What's the escape plan?" Jane shouted, pulverizing a pair of Jackals with a blast of Biotic energy. Even though the Guardian had disabled every last piece of technology still on Reach, there were still more than enough Banished to overwhelm them with sheer numbers.

Banished forces came within range, now. Dozens of Brutes charged at their position, followed by screeching Jackals and Grunts.

The Chief slapped a new magazine into his rifle and continued firing, peppering the heavily-armoured aliens with armour-piercing rounds. The steady *crack* of Linda's rifle sounded from the rear. Each time she fired, a Brute fell.

Shepard was constantly on the move, throwing down Singularities, Throw fields and other Biotic attacks. She aimed more to halt the enemy's approach than to outright kill them, but she was still a sight to behold.

A Phantom dropship descended from the sky, It's three turrets rained down death upon the advancing Brutes. It eased to a stop a meter above the jagged rocks. The side hatch of the craft hissed open, revealing five Elites clad in black armour, duel-wielding plasma rifles.

The tall warriors leapt from the Phantom and began covering the Spartan's retreat. The sheer volume of fire they put out was staggering. Kelly and Fred had enough time to pull 003 and the other Spartan in, after which Linda and John climbed in as well.

"Covering fire!" Ordered the Chief.

As one, Blue Team opened fire as well, in turn allowing the Elite fireteam to board the Phantom safely. As soon as the last Elite stepped aboard, the hatch dropped and the pilot gunned it.

"Take care of them," the Chief ordered Kelly and Fred, who immediately knelt down next to the wounded Spartans and began assessing their situation.

Linda, meanwhile, approached the Chief and brought him up to speed.

John initially though that the Guardian's EMP pulse had knocked out every single piece of electronics on Reach, but it did more than that. Both Shipmaster Vadum's ship as the Banished Fleet were adrift, frozen in place when the Forerunner weapon fired.

"Vadum thinks the Engineers can repair the damage," Linda concluded, "But if they can, so can the Banished."

Then it was almost like a race against the clock. If even one of the enemy's ships powered up before theirs did, they'd be in deep trouble.

"There is something else, too."

John paused. He detected a hint of unease in Linda's voice. He couldn't remember the last time she sounded like that.

"The Shipmaster received a transmission shortly before the Guardian went off."

Now, the Master Chief began feeling uneasy too. "What kind of message?"

Calmly, Linda recited, "The Reapers took the Alpha Relay. They're pushing inwards. Intel suggests they are heading for Relay-315. Millennia thinks this happened a couple of hours ago."

Relay-315 was the Relay that led straight into Section Zero – Jericho VII.

It made no strategic sense for the Reapers to rush into UNSC territory. They lacked the navigational data to find humanity's remaining colonies, and lacked the FTL capacities to effectively reach those colonies.

Unless…

"What's the distance between Jericho VII and the Epsilon Eridani system?" The Chief asked.

Linda was silent for a couple of seconds. Then…"About thirty light-years, give or take."

Most warships from the Citadel theatre could only reach up to fifteen light-years per day. It was only logical to assume that the Reapers could go much faster. Given their immense firepower, he'd assume their FTL speed would be double that of the Citadel ships.

The pieces clicked together.

"They're not coming for the UNSC. Not yet," the Master Chief said. "They're coming for us."

"And we're all out of tricks?" Linda asked.

The Chief didn't know. The metaphorical race against the clock had become a literal one. The Guardian's interference had won them the battle, but now it might well lose them the war.


-(++)-

AN: Dear me, another cliff-hanger. So soon after the last chapter, too. But since I'm pushing the 20,000 word count here, I don't want to risk making the chapter too long.

Halfway through the story I teased Noble Six's survival. Now it's finally time to add another badass to Shepard's growing army.

Also, the Banished! The media depicting Atriox describes him as a ruthless, pragmatic individual focused solely on gaining power, I figured it would make perfect sense for him to plunder what was already established as a massive graveyard. There's plenty of gear to be found on Reach even after the Covenant glassed it, not to mention the enormous scrapyard of ships surrounding the planet.

As always, the next update might take a while, but I'll get there eventually.